I Wish You Were Here
by Sentenced to Burn
Summary: It has been two years since Sherlock jumped off that cliff. Two years since John lost his purpose in life. His first love- his only love; dead. How is he coping with it? How is going to react to finding out Sherlock isn't really dead? Find out by reading this story! *Johnlock*


**A/N: This is a story, it will have more chapters. And thank anyone who actually took the time to read it, in my opinion it's poorly written. Sorry again. Enjoy! And I apologize, I am a little slow when it comes to updates, but bear with me here, I'm trying.**

 **Song name: Painting Flowers**

 ** _When I wake up, this dream isn't done_**

 ** _I want to see your face and know I made it home_**

 ** _If nothing is true, what more can I do?_**

 ** _I am still painting flowers for you_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

His hands shook as he downed yet another bottle of vodka. He knew he should stop, but over the years it had become an addiction. An outlet for all the pain he kept stored up. It was useless though, the pain never fully went away, and he doubted it ever would. The alcohol made it better, because for a few moments he would forget about it all, he would forget Sherlock. But after the few moments of blissful peace, the soreness would come striking back worse than ever.

It had happened two years ago. _Two bloody years ago!_ _Y_ et the memories burnt in the back of his head as if just yesterday he had watched Sherlock take the jump.

 _Sherlock's voice as he delivered his last words. Sherlock free falling through the air. Sherlock pale limp body lying on the pavement, lying in a pool of his own thick, scarlet blood._

It was too much for John. He forced himself back to reality, he couldn't take the memories. Not right now, not ever. Not a day went by where John didn't visit his grave. Not a day went by without John wondering why he had done it; why he had taken the jump. Not a day without the heartache.

All his friends had been there for him in the beginning; supporting him, comforting him. But as the days went by and John continued to mope, they gave up and moved on with their lives. He had long since quit his job and spent almost every day lounging around in his apartment. The apartment that had once been both of theirs. Everything he did or said triggered memories.

All he wanted was one more chance, one more chance to do everything he never did. He wished he had been more open about his feelings, he wished he had acknowledged and appreciated Sherlock's brilliance more.

His whole body shook as the urge to feel those coiled tufts of curly hair. To be able to stare into those piercing blue eyes. To experience the pleasure of pressing his lips to those bright pink lips he spent ages observing. He wanted Sherlock so bad it hurt.

Feeling the tears roll down his face, he rubbed his temples. He needed to get his shit together. He must accept the fact that Sherlock is dead, and is never coming back. He was only forty; he himself had a whole lifetime ahead of him. And if he was going to spend most of it crying about a man, who he known for barely a year, he was truly pathetic. Especially considering that this man had never cared for him, he never showed the slightest bit of emotion, he was purely robotic. Even if Sherlock had been alive right now, he doubted he would ever love John the way John loved him. And that thought itself hurt nearly as much as his death did.

 _The truth hurts, doesn't it?_

A small voice inside him taunted him. Shoving aside his thoughts, he reached for the only logical decision; to move on. He needed to find someone, be a woman or a man. Anyone to help him get over Sherlock.

Pushing himself up, he shakily stretched his limbs. His head throbbed from the high doses of alcohol. Groaning, he made his way towards the bathroom. He was going to be sick. Spots of color clouded his vision; his head throbbed viciously as he leaned against the wall. Gulping down the lump in his throat.

 **God, I wish you were here.**

He thought before collapsing onto the floor, letting the pain take over. His body losing consciousness and he was swallowed into darkness.


End file.
